


Sins of the Flesh

by Lucifer_Rosemaunt



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Hate Sex, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:12:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifer_Rosemaunt/pseuds/Lucifer_Rosemaunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik works to make Raoul unworthy of Christine's love. Raoul lets him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sins of the Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Warning(s): pwp-ish, angst and hatesex?  
> Word Count: 1,493
> 
> A/N: yeah, I'm doing another challenge instead of updating the fics I need to. I'm trying to get my writing up to speed. This is the quickest way I know how.  
> Story note: Who knew May could be this wonderful? (mmom stands for Merry Month of Masturbation) It'll be quite the adventure. I was actually going to do all POTO for this challenge but I really couldn't manage that, although the thought of everyone there masturbating is kind of hilarious.

o.o.o.o

"Look at yourself," the opera ghost taunted.

Raoul ignored the tone. He ignored the words shared between them as well because they were never worth hearing. They weren't worth the hurt that they were meant to cause. It wasn't an easy feat, not when Raoul knew exactly how he looked and why the masked man could bear to flaunt it. He was all too aware of his nakedness, his hands held above his head as though they were bound. They weren't though, not this time. He'd sworn several times over that he would not move them and though it had taken weeks before the ghost believed him, he had eventually stopped using the rope. He always made a point of bringing some regardless. Raoul hated it, hated the helplessness and the bruising afterwards; he hated losing feeling in his hands for hours after, a reminder even though the ghost had long since departed.

"You," the ghost spat the words out, looking like he was going to physically harm Raoul, "are a disgrace to your family and to Christine."

The ghost was fully dressed still, though his reaction to the situation did not go unnoticed. Raoul could hear the breathiness in his words. He felt as those cold hands incrementally grew warmer the longer they touched his body, as they wrenched the clothes from his body, as they not only touched but grabbed, pawed at whatever part of him that the ghost felt at whim to possess.

His touches were never gentle. Raoul knew that was intentional. There was no romance in this act and despite the seeming obvious, there really was no intimacy. The fingers grazing his nipples, palm sliding down his stomach and hand roughly grabbing him were meant to arouse him, certainly. And they did, but the ghost cared less about him than the fact that he could make him ache, could make him want this, could make him beg if he drew this experience out.

With his free hand, the ghost grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head to the side, forcing him to stare at the cold mask. "You don't deserve her."

Raoul fought a moan, fought to keep his eyes open because that was just another of their rules. Raoul had to watch everything he was letting the ghost do to him.

It had started as a way to protect his Christine, but never really because there had been other measures he could have taken, other measures that didn't make looking at her near impossible as a result. The ghost and he had only come to an agreement because Raoul knew the other man wanted nothing more than to demean him and Raoul wanted nothing more than to let go, be deviant enough to not be in control. He'd told himself, as much as he was sure the ghost had told himself, just once. He only needed to do this once and the ghost would have this with which to threaten him and Raoul would have his experience and the ability to deny everything.

"You have never deserved her."

As though to prove the point, he stroked him harder, hard enough to make Raoul moan, hands clenching the sheets above his head. He was so very close, so damn close. His body felt overheated, sweat forming where their bodies met. His hips jerked of their own accord and he didn't care about the knowing look sent his way. The ghost straddled his leg, groin pressing down in a steady rhythm. Raoul hardly knew how the friction and confinement of the man's trousers were ever enough, but he wasn't allowed to touch. The ghost always managed well enough on his own, albeit with Raoul's thigh, which when he could properly think, he ground up against the man's erection.

The ghost gritted his teeth at the action. His eyes squeezed shut as he focused on reciprocating the motion, thrusting downward so hard that his thigh trembled at the weight, and Raoul strained to hear his near silent groans through his own panting. The masked man had stopped stroking him, his hand just holding him now and Raoul was desperate to make him move. When he jerked his hips forward, the ghost only muttered, "She would turn away in disgust if she knew."

He didn't know which one of them he was speaking of, but Raoul was suddenly aware of one thing, the ghost would never tell. Not yet at least, because that would mean their trysts would end and he was hardly the only one who found relief in these encounters, who found himself inexorably drawn back to this wretched situation.

Maybe it was that realization or maybe it was the desperate need for more that gave him enough courage to break one of their rules, his hand coming down over the ghost's on his erection. He didn't bother stifling his moan, didn't bother to see if the ghost would punish him for tightening his grasp and stroking himself with their hands faster and harder. He wouldn't have been able to see because his head was thrown back, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. That was just another rule to break.

And Raoul felt like his was falling apart already because this was wholly different. This wasn't the ghost teasing him, forcing an orgasm that made him feel desperate and glad that it was finally over. This was a hand under his, giving him pleasure in the way he wanted to be touched and taken. This was the ghost swept up in the moment, too aroused to be angry and too determined to bring himself off to be thinking about revenge.

Through the fever induced haze of wanting more friction, more heat, more force, of simply wanting, Raoul reached up with his free hand and pulled the ghost even closer to him and buried his face in the other man's neck, mouthing the skin there. The man stilled and let out a pained groan before jerking against his leg twice and slumping down. Realizing that the ghost had just come, that he'd actively made the ghost come, Raoul bit down on the man's shoulder to stifle his own moans as he came, his body arching upwards against the ghost's weight.

It took long moments for Raoul to come down from the high of his release, long moments before he could comprehend the fact that the ghost was still lying half on him and more importantly that he had not moved. Panic crept at the edge of his thoughts. He could feel the ghost breathing, a slow steady rhythm that did nothing to belie the fact that his heart was still racing. He could feel that as well; a pulse, a heartbeat, it was so damn human and Raoul wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the thought, maybe at the absurdity of never really thinking of the ghost as but a man.

Their hands, the hands that he'd used to make him come were trapped between their bodies at the juncture of his thigh, thankfully no longer holding him but dangerously close. He took a shuddering breath in and scrambled to get out from beneath the ghost in a burst of motion. The other man pulled away smoothly, so in contrast to the jerky and frenzied way Raoul threw himself across the room. It was as though he'd been blind because it was all so clear now, and it felt as though he should find a weapon because surely the ghost would kill him now. He would kill him for what he'd just done to them with a single action.

He could hardly breathe overwhelmed as he was by how he'd changed everything, by what they'd been doing, of the intimacy of it all. The ghost stood, not meeting his eyes as he straightened his clothes, and Raoul could not help but see the mess that he had made of his trousers, the whitish stain on the leg that seemed too obvious.

Raoul needed to say something. He almost hoped that the ghost would simply insult him like he usually did before leaving him naked, alone, and a wreck on his own bed.

"I-" he started when the ghost refused to look at him, much less say anything. He couldn't see the expression on the man's face, wasn't sure if he could even interpret it given the opportunity.

The sound of his voice seemed to snap the ghost out of his thoughts. He met his eyes then, all calm and composed before saying, "I must see to Christine now." He swept out of the room, for all appearances unmoved and untouched by what they'd done and Raoul could only watch him leave. The ghost could have very well meant to see to her voice lessons, but Raoul felt his stomach turn at the thought he meant something more, felt the stirrings of what dangerously felt like jealousy.

o.o.o.o

End ficlet

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Fic Review: Weird having Erik be the calm one, right? But honestly, I think he knew exactly what he was doing when he was touching Raoul, whether he's affected or not is another question. I think he is; I mean how can he not be? He's just making a rather tactical retreat to figure out what the hell he's going to do and by doing so he gets the added bonus of messing with Raoul further.


End file.
